


Gentle Darkness

by JanuaryBlue



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 4.5 Spoilers, F/M, Female Reader, Help, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I have WIPs what is wrong with me, POV Female Character, Spoilers, spoiler warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-11 08:50:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17443721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanuaryBlue/pseuds/JanuaryBlue
Summary: You had not anticipated this. Other things, maybe. But not this.Gods, but it was worth it.Solus, for his part, has decided he must keep you.(Warning: 4.5 Spoilers)





	Gentle Darkness

 

 

Solus is before you, smiling, a few paces away. You have every intention of backing off – why there was a room like this in what was, by all means, some strange experimental Garlean facility was beyond you.

Before you’d seen him, you had had every intention of finding out. Now, not so much. He’s standing there, smiling that loud, pleased smile. You do not know how a person can smile loudly, but Solus is doing it. Moments ago, all you could think of was how it was freezing in this facility, how your fingers had grown numb from prying open metal doors and the death grip you maintained on your weapon.

Now all you can feel is your heart beating inside your chest. Faint alarm stirs in the back of your mind. He is not calling for help. Why is he not calling for help.

Solus is still smiling at you.

He is not calling for help; the only reason not to call for help would be because he does not need it. Why does he think he does not need it. What does Solus soz Galvus think he can do to you.

He’s still smiling at you. It occurs to you he’s waiting for you to speak. Maybe he’d said something to you. You weren’t sure. You didn’t quite remember.

“Not going to call your guards?” You ask, and you try to sound blasé, you try to sound confident.

You think you succeed, at least a little. It’s probably because you know you can take on his guards. It unnerves you to see him wave his hand dismissively, because you realize he knows it too.

“Calling my men to assault my guest – of all the indecency! What sort of host do you take me for?” Solus tells you, his smile widening into a grin as he walks in. The door closes behind him.

The room is rather dark without the light from the hallway streaming in. You keep your gazed fixed on Solus. Despite the darkness, you seem to be able to make out his face clearly.

“An enemy.” You say blandly, lightly examining your surroundings while keeping your vision centered on Solus.

He steps forwards, head just barely tilted up. You can see his hands are behind his back. Clasped together, most likely. Beyond that you could not tell.

“So hostile. I seem to have a most difficult guest in my quarters.”

The words strike unease in you. On a second glace, this room was carpeted… the walls were not as bereft of décor as the rest of the facility was. You spied a painting on a wall, an ornate nightstand by the bed – a bed. Well. His quarters indeed. There is surely more but you do not dare look further with an Ascian standing mere footsteps away.

“I am no guest here, as you well know,” You cross your arms, “I’m an intruder and I don’t have any intention of leaving this place untouched.”

He’s still smiling. Will he stop smiling, already.

“How coincidental. I, too, have no intention of allowing you to leave this place, untouched.”

It’s a heartbeat, and then another heartbeat, until you ponder his words enough that you _think_ you have their meaning. You reach for your weapon but Solus only raises a brow and laughs lightly.

“My, you _have_ spent too much time among savages. You think I mean to assault my guest? Fortunately for you, I am a most understanding host. Of course you mean no offense.” His yellow eyes glance over your weapon and your hesitant hold on it, lingering until you release it.

“What do you want?” You finally ask, heartbeat quickening in the silence of that follows.

“What all Ascians want, of course.” He purrs, taking a step toward you.

It’s an admission that reassures you, hardens you. You know what Ascians want. You know what to do about them. It’s better like this. Easier.

But before you can bark at him, Solus speaks again, his eyes half lidded in a sultry gaze, still smiling that beguiling smile.

“To serve.” He says, stepping forwards again and raising his arm, gesturing conversationally, “I live to please, you know. You and I are most alike in that regard, are we not? My most esteemed guest, hero of Eorzea and _beloved_ child of Hydaelyn.”

The Goddess’ name sounds strange from his lips. Warped, twisted, and fractured. The consonants sound harder, the sound lingers in the air for a fraction too long.

“We serve opposing Gods.” Your words are curt and solid, but Solus is altogether unperturbed.

His smile lifts higher on one side, as though you’ve said something witty. “Oh, but has She not told you? Light and Dark were once one and the same. We seek only to emulate this truth; should you not at least stand for a demonstration?”

You don’t know what he’s talking about. It doesn’t feel good. Why is he here, what does he want – you still don’t have the answers to your questions.

“I don’t-” You start, and then think better of it. Any information about what the Ascians were trying to do would be useful. But – no, no, nothing good could come of this. “I don’t want a demonstration.”

Solus meets your gaze evenly, inquisitive eyes piercing through you as he stared you down.

Enough of this. You _are_ the hero of Eorzea, you _are_ Hydaelyn’s Chosen. You had killed Ascians. You would not be intimidated by this one just because he wore no mask. You’d stared down pretty faces before.

“I want to know why you’re speaking with me instead of fighting. Are you stalling for time until reinforcements arrive?” You know it isn’t the case, but it is all you can think of that actually makes sense.

That sardonic smile doesn’t fade in the slightest at your cool, measured words. Solus tilts his head to the side, then gestures towards you, waving his arm as though in presentation.

“Tell me, hero, are you always so difficult to please?” That voice drawls to your, smooth but catching on certain words, dripping with feigned indignation, “Or are you merely playing with me? I confess I do enjoy a challenge.”

You tell him what you want, you ask him questions, and then he calls you difficult to please. Any reluctance you might have had towards lashing out fades quickly in the wake of your annoyance.

“I told you what I want. Answer my question! What the hell are you doing here?!” You bark out, stepping forwards and readying yourself for a confrontation.

That’s the only way this could ever have ended, anyways.

Solus’s eyes peer into yours. Searching, searing. A vivid yellow that looks so very strange against his pallid skin, his violet hair. They do not look darker, not even brown or hazel, in the shadows of the room – they only flash at you, bright and golden, like coins or medals, fixed upon you.

“Calm yourself, Warrior of Light.” He says lowly, lowering his chin until he looks at you face to face. “Perhaps my grandson and his heir have left a bad impression on you – or perhaps our dear Emissary has not performed his role so well. I am in truth here only to speak, make your acquaintance – host your presences in my quarters, if you will.”

Solus gives a light little bow, smiling all the while. Mysteriously, it does not strike you as particularly sincere. “That, I trust, is to our mutual benefit. You cannot intend to kill a man you do not know, can you, hero?”

In an attempt not to fidget, you grab your arms as you cross them harder. It’s a relief when you do so, even if it only fights the chill away from the very tips of your fingers. The rest of your hands are cold to the bone.

“I should ask the same of you.” You make no explanation, no suggestion of what you mean. It isn’t necessary.

Waving his hand as though to physically brush aside your rebuttal, Solus responds with a practiced dismissiveness. “Quite. But I imagine you can afford to indulge me, yes? Your sort has always been so taken with the prospect of peace. I would smile to hear you say you think otherwise – but then we would not be having this lovely conversation, now would we?”

It’s a circular answer that annoys you and leaves you back where you started. Solus, apparently, wanted to… talk.

Make your acquaintance. Host you. _Talk._

So, you talk.

“ _Quite._ ” You throw the word back at him, a taunt that draws only a flicker of amusement across his face before it fades into that smug satisfaction that so vexes you. “As you wish. What sort of demonstration were you thinking of, then?”

Even as you say the words you feel hesitant, uncertain. You can only imagine this ending badly. There is no way his smile is not meant to unsettle you.

“Why, an _intimate_ one, of course.” Solus lingers on the word as he stares into your eyes. “There can be none better.”

His teasing manner gets to you, and it must show on your face because he rests a hand in the crook of his elbow, bringing the other hand up to touch his cheek with gloved fingertips.

“As I said, our respective deities did once exist as one being. That is the wholeness we seek to restore, for as Hydaelyn is less than it should be without the Darkness, so He will be incomplete, until at last He is accepted and returned to His place alongside Her." Solus steps forwards. Immediately, thoughtlessly, you take a step back. “I cannot blame you, not when you know so little of our god. Elidibus is a rather poor Emissary in the regular sense of the word; I would sooner have expected Lahabrea to convert you to our cause than hear the Emissary had shared his precious knowledge with you.”

The implication that Elidibus has some special knowledge – perhaps even that Solus himself does not know – is an intriguing one, but you can’t imagine Solus will tell you more if you just ask. That even _he_ thinks so little of Lahabrea… it makes you question Gaius’s words. If Lahabrea was truly so powerful or higher up than the others, after all, then why did every Ascian you met proceed to insult him in their first words to you?

“You Ascians certainly are secretive. When you aren’t trying to teach beastmen how to summon Primals, of course.” You say bluntly. You get about as little of a reaction as you expect, because of course Solus does not care about such things.

“So we are, but you are fortunate indeed to have one right here, at your beck and call.” Solus gives a little bow, folding his arm carefully to the side as he does so. He raises his head to meet your eyes with a heated gaze. “I do not mind baring my soul to such a lovely hero as yourself.”

Solus says it all still smiling at you.

He steps forwards again, and again. He’s getting close and you don’t like it. Not one bit. And he _will not stop_ smiling at you.

“I assure you, experience is a far greater teacher than any words I could speak to you. And this is an experience you will remember _quite_ fondly.”

You back away, praying you don’t stumble into anything behind you as you do not look.

And you do. Something tall hits your back, soft and clothed and altogether very much human-shaped. A man, by the feel of the front of him against your back.  

You want to spin around, see who it is, attack, make space. But Solus has you pinned with his gaze. Tearing your eyes away from him is impossible.

He’s still smiling. He’s still smiling. Somehow you almost don’t care, nearly don’t notice the figure behind you because Solus is looking at you, grinning wide like a cat that found a new toy to play, bright golden eyes flashing at you in the dark. If only he would blink, if only he would just please blink…

He does not.

Solus only keeps staring at you, waiting for you to speak. If the person behind you is breathing, is moving, you can’t tell.

“So that’s why you weren’t calling for help. We aren’t alone.” As soon as the words leave your mouth you want to take them back. Absolutely not, Solus zos Galvus and you were not a “we”. You couldn’t just _say_ that to him and think –

A laugh fills the room, your heart jumps in an electric sensation of surprise at the sound. Gods, but it’s a thrilling thing to hear, filled with energy and excitement. Gods, you have to stop thinking like that. If you hadn’t been completely certain Solus would have caught the gesture, you’d have bit your lip to keep your straying thoughts in line.

You want to move, to fist your hands, draw your weapon, _anything_ to relieve this tension, this ache, to give you something else to think about. But of course you do not. You cannot. Not with Solus staring at you like… like he’s… like he’s _expecting_ something.

“I assure you, dear hero, we are _very_ much alone.”

Your gaze is fixed on the man before you. His mouth had not moved, and the sound had come from behind, but you would recognize that voice anywhere. There was no way Solus would permit another to intrude on this moment anyways.

Still the warmth behind you seeps into your back. Hands cover your shoulders and you tense, only for them to slide off, curving along your sides until they fell to your hips, at which point they edged towards the front of your body and rested easily on your thighs.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Solus is only a step away but he does not come forward, only holds his hands up at his sides. As though to show he is unarmed.

It’s an absurd display of innocence – of _helplessness_ – that doesn’t move you in the slightest. The unseen figure behind you leans forward and you feel a head on your shoulder.

Immediately you tense, straighten. The hands on your legs press you softly back into him, but it’s an easy pull to resist, so you do.

Still, you lean your head away from the face against your neck. You can feel bare skin on yours, smooth and warm and inviting. When he kisses a press against your throat you cannot stop your eyes from darting over, from seeing the dark purple hair –

A gasp comes out, completely out of your control, and you jerk in his gentle hold that is not a hold, jumping away from him.

Solus – the Solus behind you – allows this, but it takes you closer to the Solus in front of you. Oh gods this is confusing. The air feels so cold against a patch of your skin, and when you meet his eyes, light like pale gold in the darkness, your chest thuds in fear, excitement.

Stumbling away from both of them, you raise a hand to your neck. It’s wet from his kiss, and when you pull away it is stained violet, the color dark like a bruise on your fingertips. A balm, you supposed, or some paint such as actors used on their faces before their performances. It suited him.

This is, of course, your cue to yell at him, demand answers, or just tear your weapon out and cut through him and his double like tissue paper. You could also simply flee, use the Return spell and be home, far, far away from distant Garlemald and its not-dead founding emperor.

You do not. Instead you look back into his sultry gaze and lurid smile, this time with slightly better understanding. If that all had been innuendo… well. How this was actually connected to the Ascians and Hydaelyn – if it ever was in the first place – is far beyond your ken.

But it does not take the wisdom of ages to know that his face his pleasing, his voice smooth and filled with a sardonic tone that had you completely taken. There was a reason you’d stopped to talk with Solus in the first place, and perhaps it was not so different from what he claimed.

Moreover, this handsome, quick-tongued creature who radiates skill and confidence has more or less offered himself as a partner, and he is convinced he can show you a good time. Do you really want to refuse?

Everything in you screams _YES._ He is an Ascian, he is a Garlean, he is your enemy in a thousand ways, a thousand times over. This is very possibly a trap, and even if it is not, how will you explain any of it if it comes up later to your allies?

Arms wrap around you from behind, and lost in thought as you are, you do not struggle. If you had been paying any attention at all, you would be shocked that there was not one, but _three_ copies of Solus in the room, all wearing the same outfit and sporting that same smile.

Once again the voice comes at you from behind, drawling lowly in your ear, “Dear, precious hero. I know you meant only to save this world, and you have fought long and hard to do so.”

Just how many of him are there? Between your Echo and your aether senses, you know there is only one person in the room, but you cannot tell exactly where. Is one body real and the others fake?

“You have earned yourself some pleasure and attention.” He purrs lowly from behind you, words brushing against your neck as he spoke them haltingly, as though waiting for you to interrupt. “Such a miracle you are. A Warrior of Light, Hydaelyn’s own beloved daughter; powerful and brilliant enough to stand in your own right, outside Her blessing. You deserve the things you have been denied; your personal life, your own safety and comfort, your own needs and desires.”

The way he spoke that last sentence – he reached out to hold onto your shoulders, pressing deep into the tense knots coiled in there, drags an involuntary sigh from you, deep and heady. You need to brush him off now, attack him for taking liberties with your person, make it clear he is in no position to touch you so casually.

You don’t. You stand a moment to feel his massage, relaxing into it unconsciously, blinking slowly in an effort to gather yourself that ultimately fails. Solus’s words only echo in your head as surely as his eyes burn into yours and his gloved fingers caress your rigid form.

You did not enjoy the peace and comfort those you protected possessed, you had no time to attend to your own interests, and no personal life to speak of. No lovers, no affection or appreciation, only weak and fragile friendships from the very people who relied upon you.

“Sweet, precious hero.” In the darkness you cannot quite tell who is speaking, where the words come from, even though you had been able to only a moment ago. “Do you feel empty? Do you feel dissatisfied? Fear not. I will make it better.”

Against all rational thought, you believe him.

Is this how everyone else felt, when you promised them impossible things? You wanted so bad to believe it was true, that everything would all be all right. That someone else could fix everything for you, make it all better. That someone else would even _want_ to make things better for you, make you happy.

And here he was, smiling that smile at you with his pretty face and making his pretty promises in that sweet, sweet voice. It all seems so mocking, so sarcastic, but his hands on your shoulders feel anything but.

The memory of his lips on your neck, fluid and fleeting, feels anything but mocking. Right now, the ones standing before you are anything but distant. Solus is close and smiling and telling you everything you want to hear, even if it’s in a jester’s voice.  

Decided, you reach out, shoulders unconsciously lowered in acceptance, the loss of tension in your body not plain to you, but immediately obvious to Solus.

Behind you he grins. In front of you, Solus approaches, closing in all directions, filling the space around you completely.

You should feel cornered, captured. In a way, you do. But more than that, you feel the heat of the bodies against you, you see that same smiling, pleased face, those eyes staring at you with an unmistakable satisfaction.

“I-” you begin, but don’t know what else to say. His hands on you steal your breath away quite quickly, roaming your form in several pairs, pressing against you, but never too hard.

“Shhhh.” A shush comes from behind you, and, lost as to what you wanted to say anyways, you obey. Instead, you focus on the hands upon you, caressing and touching with a carefulness that fascinates you, even in your hazy state.

You feel the tug of fabric around your abdomen, followed by a rush of cool air. It’s soothed only by the smooth, warm gloves dragging against your skin, pulling your top up.

In front of you, Solus is still smiling. This time his eyes are smiling as well. You feel another set of hands, covered in that same material and radiating heat, grab at your arms and raise them up, a motion you only contemplate resisting. Instead you gaze at him lazily, blinking only when your clothing is pulled over your head.

He allows your arms to fall, but lets his hands trail down them as they do, slowly catching your forearm and sliding up to hold your wrists. Bringing them up to his face, Solus makes a show of breathing in your skin, tickling it, and your fingers twitch at the feeling of it. When he kisses the inside of your wrist it sends a cold jolt up your arm, and your hand moves to touch his face.

The others enclose you easily, and without even noticing, guide you in a certain direction, leading you to step and step while you shudder and shiver from their touches.

Just when you think you had gotten wise, and you should be able to predict it, you are surprised again. You really shouldn’t be.

On the bed sits Solus. Another one.

He’s smiling at you. Just like the first one was. Is. He’s still there, you think dimly. To your right. _On_ your right. He is glued to your side as surely as the other has not left his place behind you, warming your back with his chest, guiding your steps with careful suggestions of his hands on your hips. Another Solus is at your left side, cutting of any angles of retreat. But retreat from what?

What was there to run away from?

Solus is sitting there, tilting his head lazily. His eyes are trained on you, of course. He blinks once, languidly, and then clasps his hands together in front of him, resting his arms on his legs. Leaning forward to touch his hands with his chin.

You can feel those hands on you. There they are, laced together before your sight, but you can feel the soft material of those gloves trailing down your arm, caressing your hand in his. You know what they look like. What they feel like.

It’s then you notice he’s not wearing gloves. The Solus on the bed isn’t wearing gloves. He isn’t wearing his coat, either. Just like how your coat – your shirt – what had you been wearing? – had been lost in the – what was happening here? – you shake your head and step forward. The kneading on your back had been nudging you, more and more.

And why shouldn’t you come up to Solus, grab those threaded fingers in your hands and feel what his bare skin is like? He is pretty, so pretty, and he won’t stop _looking at you,_ so he must feel much the same. He’s looking at you with those pretty eyes and that handsome smile – somewhere you still shudder at it, but your conscious mind registers it only as excitement – and those lips look so so nice.

You remember he kissed your neck. What would they feel like on your mouth? You can’t quite remember what it felt like on your neck, actually.

“Ah, missing my attentions, are you? Fear not, my dear,” The Solus in front of you stops speaking, for what you think is the only reason he would ever stop speaking – to press his mouth against yours, taste your tongue writhing against his. You hear, of course, another Solus pick up the sentence behind you. “I would not dare let you go unsatisfied.”

The other Solus returns himself to your neck, sucking along gently. Carefully scaping his teeth in places, pressing down slightly – not a bite, but a reminder, just a taste. A feeling of something other than those lips.

Sweet, sweet lips. You know not what Solus had been eating, or if it was some kind of balm for his lips he was fond of. It mattered not, as long as you could taste more and more of it. You lean in, rest your legs on either side of him on the bed, and the others follow. One behind, and at either side of you. You’re completely cornered with sheer bodies, each one radiating heat and sarcastic amusement and languid arousal.

It's hot, terribly hot in here. You consider mentioning it to Solus, but which one? Besides, your mouth had better things to do. Solus had only begun playing with your tongue between your teeth, teasing it to follow into his mouth, twisting it around and around. His hands are on your hips, holding you solidly on his lap.

Behind you Solus puts his hands to use, having climbed onto the bed soon after you had. He presses into your skin and muscle with unexpected precision and tenderness, loosing knots and easing tension you had not even been aware of. Your shoulders feel like they are falling to your sides, relaxing easily as your entire back slacks.

Even falling, you are not troubled. The one behind you, as much Solus as any of the others, catches you with an easy, breathy chuckle – is he as beset by lust as you are? – and holds you up against the Solus that is kissing you in an easy, comfortable embrace. His arms feel almost natural wrapped around you from behind, save the soft, rich fabric that covered them.

Despite your relative inexperience with it, you much preferred the Solus before you. His skin was as smooth as it looked and not half as cold. Rather, a flushed heat radiated from his bare skin despite his pallor, and his cheeks had not even flushed with the strength of it. You wonder if he has cheated.

You raise a hand to check – to cup his face in your palms and stroke his jaw with your thumb, see if he was using a powder or some other actor’s tool to cover up his complexion. Ascians did love their masks, after all.

Of course you do not get so far. On either side of you there had been a Solus, and the moment you move your arms he springs into action on each side. Each held onto an arm, carefully holding it as though it were some precious treasure or ornament, a fine and delicate piece that might break if mishandled.

“I did say I would satisfy you, yes?” You think that voice comes from your right, where Solus immediately leans in and presses his face into your neck, his nose tickling as he nuzzled into your throat. It’s enough to disrupt your kiss, but your partner predictably does not mind overmuch.

From the other side the Solus on your left comes in as well. On that side he is particularly taken with your shoulder, however; he leaves a kiss at the base of your neck, and a trail of saliva where he pulls back towards your arm. Solus is quick to bend your arm up so that your hand is level with his face. Immediately, he licks at your fingertips.

That much gets a yelp of surprise form you; you flex your fingers but he holds your wrist in both his hands, brushing the back of your palm against his face.

From the corner of your eye you can see the Solus at your left smile devilishly. Had he always been smiling? You aren’t sure, but –

The shock of a warm, wet heat enveloping your finger as Solus takes it into his mouth is enough to make you nearly choke on his tongue – the, the _other_ Solus’ tongue, the one that wasn’t currently wrapping itself around your finger – on the right, Solus bites down on your neck. Not too hard, just enough to attract your attention, shift your focus from right to left.

It occurs to you exactly what hand Solus is lavishing his attentions on, and belatedly you realize he is tasting the balm that was on his lips, which you had wiped off from when he kissed your neck. It felt like it had happened hours ago, and yet the tongue licking clean your finger is there on your skin right here and now.

The relief of cool air touches your finger the moment Solus releases it, bending your fingers to plant a kiss on your knuckles. It’s a reverent, courtly gesture, so gentle and out of place you almost pull away to stare at him.

The kiss breaks for air, and you are granted your opportunity. Face flushed and red, you stare down at the Solus holding your hand, head bowed.

“You, you, wh-” Your line of questioning is cut off by a sudden pressure on your head.

Apparently, the Solus behind you had sat up on his knees to rest his chin on your hair. You are left nestled in the crook of his neck, leaning back against him in his embrace. His hands rise up to meet this, brushing against skin stretched by your chest, heaving slowly from the muted excitement you’d experienced.

You barely even notice when he cups your breasts in each hand, lifting it and shifting his grip as he pressed lightly against them. The movements are so slow and sedated you would not have taken note of them, but the feeling of him touching you, even through a glove, induces excitement. Slowly but surely your heart begins to flutter with a faint realization, and at once his hands on your breasts feel utterly thrilling and unpredictable.

He had been from the beginning, hadn’t he? You had not the faintest idea what Solus might do next, you realize as a light moan is torn from you by his careful ministrations.

Adjusting quickly, he slides his hand up and down your breast, caressing it again and again to find exactly what elicits the greatest reaction. It’s not long before he begins pawing at the other one, and by then his attentions there have settled into a pleasant stimulation, warm and growing more familiar with every moment.

Solus treats your right breast to a slow squeeze, just enough to feel it give under the pressure, and is quite satisfied to tear a noise from you for his efforts. He continues, paying attention to your reaction, releasing it the moment it causes you discomfort, only to try again with a better understanding of just how far he can go.

Eventually you pull away, breasts tender and sore from his ministrations, and you fall back into a warm chest, finely clothed and firm against you.

As you lean back, Solus gives, letting you slide back until your head rested in his lap. You don’t consider his own pleasure, dressed as he is in such garments, only gaze up at the Solus who was not clothed in questioning anticipation.

Uninvited, intrusive, an annoying interruption; your mind suggests to you that you must stand from the bed, make more complex movements, in order to remove the garments on your lower half. It’s absolutely nowhere near as appealing as the idea of lying there, luxuriating in Solus’s attentions. Of course the one before you, half nude himself, gives you naught but an impish smile, one that quickens your heart for but a pair of beats, before grabbing at your remaining clothing.

You’re prepared to help him yank it off, but the strength of his gaze like molten gold is altogether unnerving, and you instead look up at the Solus whose lap you laid upon. He, too, is smiling at you, and for a moment you wonder why on earth you’d thought it mattered which Solus you looked at as he ravished you.

No sooner had you thought that than the Solus at your left and right sides descended upon you. On the right he lavishes attention on your breast, sucking and licking and on occasion dragging his teeth across the sensitive skin. Not quite a warning, but a change in sensation, a new feeling scraping against your flesh, soft and tender from his earlier caresses.

On your left the Solus there takes a subtler approach, kissing at your breast and the skin there, swirling his tongue gently around your nipple; a tiny movement that sends a shudder down your back and hones your focus onto him. With a coquettish smile he meets your eyes with his own glittering gaze, hot and languid like molten gold. You can feel the heat of it burning against your skin – his tongue licking at your breast a few times before he bored of that, and began to kiss a trail down your breast and along your ribcage.

You decide you’ve spent enough time lying there helplessly. Shifting your gaze so that you stare directly up at the Solus you’re lying on, you part your lips and reach up an eager, wanting hand.

It’s fun to see his expression change, brows raised in surprise before settling into realization and leaning in. He’s stopped by your hand, and from there you get a rapid blink from him, an expression of true shock as your fingertips caress his cheek. It’s remarkably cool, and smooth, and you decide quite quickly that you very much like it.

Solus leans into your hand, an almost vacant expression on his face, staring back at you with eyes darkened with lust and pleasure, and other unknowable things. You could not claim to know the mind of an Ascian, but at least you knew this one’s face – and gods, is it _lovely._ You would not mind lying in his lap for hours, caressing his face, feeling the shape of it and knowing it with your hands as well as with your eyes.

How is it possible for him to look more beautiful when he was not smiling? You had always thought people looked prettier when they smiled. Then again, his smile had done nothing from the beginning but unsettle you; this neutral expression, unsure and unclear but still satisfied, is much like your own, a trait that makes it seem familiar, and almost… honest.

Even with his lips upon your chest, tasting and savoring you in every way imaginable, wholly devoted to the task of your pleasure, you cannot find it in yourself to look away from Solus.

All this is enough to distract you as the remaining Solus settles himself between your legs and pulls down at your lower half, tugging gently and gently until, almost without realizing it, you are completely in the nude.

Cool air brushes between your legs, a stark sensation that is enough to jolt you into awareness. At once you feel bare, vulnerable – lying prone on your back before these smirking, smiling men who share the same face, and, your Echo tells you, the same soul.

It’s all so overwhelming in so many ways; perhaps that is how you got into this. You are outnumbered, naked and bared before a formidable opponent. And even that pales in comparison to the brush of gloved hands against your hair, the soft material gently grazing your temple. Stroking through your hair slowly and smoothly, as though it pleased Solus to do so.

You are not used to being touched, being handled so carefully. You are a hero, a legend, a myth, a being far beyond mortal pleasures and desires. So long had it been thought of you, even you had begun to believe that you could not feel such base desires, you could not feel anything.

Of course you are wrong. And that is not even the least of it. These eyes on you, drinking in your form, scouring every ilm of you as though committing it to memory. All of them around you, beautiful and smiling and looking at you from above while you laid there naked; it’s all too much. Too much.

You turn your face to bury it in the legs you laid upon, embarrassment clear on your flushed cheeks.

Above you Solus chuckles, a noise that only gets louder as he leans down by your head, closing in on your ear. Mocking you with his laughter, with a smile you could not see.

On your ear you feel something strange; at first you mistake it for his heated breath, but you soon recognize it for wetness, and the warmth from his tongue brushing against the shell of your ear.

You shouldn’t be surprised. Of course Solus would solve his problems with that tongue of his.

“Oh, please, hero.” His breath tickled your newly wet ear, “Let me see your face. Your eyes. I _long_ for it so; will you not grant me at least this much?”

He presses a kiss to your temple and pulls away, giving you space. For a moment all you hear is your own breathing, and slowly but surely, you turn back to face the ones who have bedded you.

They’re staring still, smiling. The only thing that keeps you from turning away once more is the naked appreciation in their eyes, softened into a pale, almost silvery color. Touching you carefully, caressing your bare flesh as though it was made of glass, eyes filled with worship.

It's a wonderful feeling, like being in an ocean. Silk sheets below you and soft, gloved hands running over your body, flowing almost like water across your bare skin and sliding across you just as easily. Applying pressure lightly in differing amounts, always cautious not to use too much, to only press into your flesh where it will elicit a response from you.

With so many bodies surrounding you, despite all being one person, the heat builds and builds. Somehow his hands never feel hot against your skin, but it does not change how feverish you feel, skin burning up and the surrounding air much too warm.

As pleasant as it is, you cannot shake the feeling of being overwhelmed, outnumbered. It’s all just so much, so much more attention and affection than you have ever been used to. More and more, you begin to feel crowded, nervousness pooling –  

“Too much?” Solus murmurs between kisses, speaking only when his lips left your flesh. You can’t help the flush that rises up your face, radiating heat from your cheeks as you look down and see Solus’s face buried in your abdomen. Close, dangerously close. “Ah, I see. Well, fret not, my dear hero. It is taxing for myself as well; all the better if I can now better… _focus_ my attentions.”

The others, the ones who had been wearing clothes disappear. Gone, you suspect, or faded away or dissolved into a dark mist or _something._ That isn’t important right now. What is important was the Solus above you, unclothed except for his dark pants, pale skin in stark contrast to the dark surroundings.

“Next time, perhaps.” He says, dragging his face further down your body, feeling your skin with his cheek and laying kisses as he went.

A bare fingertip brushes against your breast in a pleasant caress, but soon enough it slides across your nipple, taut and hard from the cool air as well as your own excitement. You feel him close in with his fingers on either side, and languidly register after the fact that he intends to pinch.

The sensation jolts through you and you nearly curl into yourself, but his hands reach up to press you flat into the mattress. You obey his wordless command with eager impatience, shifting on the mattress beneath him to entice him to action. Solus only smiles against your hip and pinches again at your breast, pressing his grin harder into your hip when his mischievousness earns him a light yelp.

He twists your nipple between his fingers, lightly and slowly in a sensation that is quite pleasant until it breaks into pain. The warm twist of your flesh between his fingers only becomes more and more electric with every jolt of pain, upon which Solus quickly releases it and moves to the other breast. Your shoulders start to shake with every pinch that comes when Solus goes too far, and you soon begin to stretch your chest up to direct his attention elsewhere.

Of course it does not work, and after a few moments your nipples have become overtly sensitive, tender to the touch so that just brushing against it is enough to have you shivering. Solus, you are sure, is quite pleased with his handiwork.

Frustrated, you dig your fingers into his hair and yank Solus upwards by it, uncaring of the blush that paints your face. Your only concern is expression your dissatisfaction, chiding your partner for his attitude.

You are met with an unrepentant smirk, though his hands fall to your sides easily enough, resting docilely at your waist.

He likes to tease, you understand; you should have realized sooner. A completely intentional, malicious torment, and Solus has the gall to meet your eyes as he does it, trailing kisses from your navel then moving to the side to slide down against your thigh. Even when you look away, you can tell where he is by the feel of his breath on the inside of your thigh.

You nearly jump when he chuckles, hot breaths brushing the insides of your legs and only barely missing the wetness above. Gods, he really meant to tease you, didn’t he?

“Beautiful hero,” He purrs, the rumble of his voice shuddering deep into your bones, his lips against your skin searing in their faint, noncommittal brush. “Is this a sufficient demonstration?”

All your hazy mind catches is the word _sufficient,_ and your only thought was a vehement denial. Still you look out into the darkness of the rest of the room, anywhere but at him.

You know it’s not enough. You can hear him smiling, still.

“Beloved Daughter of Hydaelyn,” Solus whispers and his breath brushes you between the legs, catching on the slick there and sending shivers throughout you. “Warrior of Light. Do you not long for more?”

He asks his last question with an almost remorseful solitude that compels you to look back at him. As soon as he feels your eyes on him he looks up from his place below you. You can feel your cheeks heating, you know you must be visibly red and flushed.

Still, with Hydaelyn’s name you are brought back to reality, the truth of the situation crashing onto you with crystal clarity… only to soon be washed away as shadows creep into your vision, harder and harder. They engulf everything besides you, Solus and the bed upon which you lay, creeping forwards still but for the most staying at bay.

His hands, too, creep slowly and slowly up your thighs. Infuriatingly they stop, just before where you wanted them. Tickling thin skin with that beguiling smile, drawing your gaze and attention in entirely.

Gods, you want more. Hydaelyn help you, you _want more._ You can only bring yourself to think that for a moment, though, before the darkness starts to swim in the background and your vision adjusts, somehow saturating the light that remains for you to see. Solus’s hair is now a deeper, more vivid purple, his eyes golden and rich and glowing in a way you’d not seen before. Even his pale grayed skin seems to shine with an inner light.

To your hazy mind it makes perfect sense. Of course he is so bright and pretty – the Ascians are, after all, without shadow. How can one be without shadow, except if they emit light? Clearly this is the case. Whatever absurdities lie in that line of reasoning you do not bother to pursue; you are captivated by the creature before you, beautiful and shining as he is.

“How tiresome, how thankless it must be, to serve your Goddess, to be blinded by Her will.” You are trapped between consideration and frustration. Your conscious mind stirs at the jab to the Goddess, but the rest of you can only long for him to put his mouth to something more useful. “What She has done is against the natural order of things. Light and Dark were meant to be as one.”

You reach out to him, but he is too far down your body to touch. Moving to sit up is impossible; even if you were not taxed by this strange, languid lust you know Solus would restrain you, with the body before you or with the others he had sent away.

“Do you not long for more?” Solus repeats to you and you cannot hold back a strained whine. He can talk all he wants, you just want him to touch you already. Please, please, let him touch you already.

“Touch me.” You say instead, commanding, allowing none of your desperation to seep into your voice.

You don’t need to; there’s no doubt even in your clouded mind that Solus already knows exactly how you feel. Those half-lidded eyes, with a gaze thick like honey, tell you well enough how he feels about the matter. You suspect if you ask he wouldn’t deny it for even a heartbeat, but that matter is of no concern to you now, not in the slightest.

Solus stretched, rises up your body, and you tense, then untense as he nearly lays himself down on you, his head resting on your chest. Tilted to the side, as though to listen in on your heartbeat. None of that concerns you, either.

You grab at his arm only to be shaken off with a light chuckle. Solus stretches up to kiss you, and when you turn your head to the side he laughs again. Positioning himself on his hands and knees above you, straddling your waist, he looks down on your face with unnatural satisfaction.

“Oh, hero. Do not deny me so. Or were you under the impression I meant to deny you?”

Only for a moment do you follow his words. When he slides a hand between your legs, this time going directly for the wet slit that he had so carefully neglected, you can think only of that.

He laughs at your whimper, too, or perhaps at the sound of your heart quickening in your chest, stuttering away with anticipation and excitement.

Does Solus even have a heart? The thought strikes you in a strange moment of clarity, and in an instant you decide to see for yourself. It’s an easy, if wobbly motion, to reach your arm up to plant your hand on his chest, hovering above you as he was. His chest is surprisingly warm, toned, and lithe, his musculature faint and lean from a life of leisure, but unmistakably present nonetheless. You can feel the muscles tense under the skin at your touch, and then you clutch at him desperately as his own hand below springs into action.

Brushing past hair to slide between the folds, he spreads your sex with two fingers, nudging you with his knees to part your legs. You do so eagerly, gasping as he strokes along your slit, bare fingers sliding easily along your wet flesh.

Another laugh comes from him, delighted and breathy, and Solus sits back between your legs to give your aching sex his full attention. Up and down he slides his fingertips, drawing moan after moan from you until you are hot and panting. You cannot help but writhe a little underneath him as Solus’s fingers become repetitive in their motions, rubbing your flesh over and over to the point of numb pleasure.

You whimper again, wiggle your hips, and watch his smirk grow as he sees you desperate for more stimulation, for more of his touch. Dark lashes hang low in his eyes, obscuring them from view as he settles himself between your legs, pushing them wider in a lewd display.

When his other hand meets your flesh you nearly moan at the sensation of it. Solus drags the flat of his nail through your folds, smooth and hard – completely unlike his soft, uncalloused hands. Around and around he trails it against your flesh, always teasing, working you to a breaking point as you started to buck your hips to get more.

Solus does not hesitate to hold you down with one arm, withdrawing the hand, dragging a whine out of you for his trouble. Quickly, he bares his teeth to you in a grin.

You inhale sharply as he slides a finger into your sex, the penetration easy with his digit coated in your wetness. He allows it to rest there, letting you adjust to its presence, while his other fingers stroke across your folds, pressing hard in places, enough to make you whimper constantly as heat builds and builds in your lower body, pulsing with sensation in time to his strokes.

Through it all, Solus does not break his gaze from your face – a fact that only heats your cheeks further when you become aware of it – and examines your expression listens carefully to your each and every utterance as he touches you.

Daringly, he just barely grazes your clit with his thumb. It’s only his other hand holding you down by your hip that keeps you from jerking up into it, despite the nearly painful burst of pleasure his touch had provoked. You swallow a deep breath to keep yourself from shuddering, and enjoy the feeling of your lower half heated in pleasure, your sex burning with electric sensation.

Solus curls his finger inside you as he curls his own lips, teasing another one in alongside it, satisfied that you are wet enough for it. At the while his thumb makes more teasing motions around your clit, never so much as brushing against it again.

You close your eyes, trying to shut out your vision and control your shaky breathing, but attempt fails as he stretches you, slowly but surely adding another finger and wiggling them inside you, causing you to tense and clench around them. Intense heat pools in your abdomen, hot and frenetic. With each brush of his digits inside you, searching and seeking for anything to please you, the heat builds, pulsing with his every movement inside you as you involuntarily clamp down.

He digs his thumb into your folds, the sharp pinch igniting a spark of pleasure that is impossible to ignore, even with all the other movements you make. Carefully Solus drags his thumb along your wetness, never hard enough to break skin, but more than enough to leave a line of intoxicating pleasure searing along your flesh. It burns on you, burns like the muscles inside you clench against Solus’s intrusion and he continues to stroke you from within.

Again he presses against you, but this time he does not move, keeping his hand painfully still. With your hips held in place you have little respite; all you can do is claw at his back, hoping spitefully that you _do_ pierce his skin.

Solus still does not move, just smiles down at you.

You think you see a flash of pleasure in his eyes, even, as your nails scratch at his skin, no doubt leaving red lines on him. It’s almost a shame you can’t see it, but you far prefer the front of him. Even his stupid smiling face.

With your entire repertoire of moves explored, you are left with a single ability at your disposal – your words. And you do know that Solus likes words. Quickly, because the heat that had gathered in your lower half had begun to drain away, embers of a flame not properly stoked, you search for a word that will make Solus do what you want.

“Please.” You plead, looking up into his eyes, meeting his face with yours directly.

It’s the right thing to say.

Heaving a sigh, as though all his excitement and fun had been stolen from him, and quirking his lips at the annoyance that so clearly covers your face in the next moment, Solus finally sees fit to grant you the movement you seek. At once, your lower half is alive again, hot and searing with sensation as his fingers curl inside you even more than before.

It all comes to a crashing explosion when he presses his thumb down, straight on your clit, so hard you can feel the ridges of his thumbprint against your sensitive flesh, nerves set aflame and sending lightning through you, hot and searing and overflowing. Ecstasy storms your senses. The heat pooled in your abdomen floods your head, sending your vision swimming, your eyelids fluttering, and your conscious mind into pure bliss.

Warmth floods you, and you close your eyes, raising the back of your hand to your face in a vain attempt to cool it down. Your heart, pounding away inside your chest as your whole body heaved in desperate, heated exhaustion. It’s only Solus’s hands, cool skin against your sweating, flushed body that keeps you from passing out entirely.

It's a pleasant, relaxing state of being, your body finally slack and free of tension. You feel no urge to move or shift yourself, only endless comfort as Solus’s hands wander once more around your body, exploring familiar territory and spreading cooling touches wherever they went.

Lazily, after taking a few deep breaths and slowly setting from your high, you gaze back up at him. Blinking blearily a few times before tilting your head to the side. Your mind is honestly blank; you’re not sure what he wants from you now, what he expects from you.

A long, low laugh is drawn from him at that. Slowly, Solus removes his hand from your sex, so hot and tender from his touches you cannot bring yourself to miss it. He steadies your trembling thighs with either hand, but his movements still confuse you. He lowers himself, more and more, until his face rests just between your legs, smiling directly up at your face, meeting your wide eyes with his own glittering ones.

“Oh, sweet hero.” Solus coos. His voice is definitely mocking. In the afterglow of your pleasure, you can admit to yourself that you like that. “Do not tell me you thought I was done?”

You open your mouth to speak, but you have nothing to say. What can you say. He’s smiling at you like a cat that’s caught its prey, finished playing with it, and now intends to _eat you whole._

And of course he does. It’s all you can do not to choke on your own gasp as he buries his face in your sex, nudging into your folds with his nose and letting his breaths brush the wetness there, sending shudders throughout your whole body.

He wastes no time running his tongue across your tender, swollen folds, a smooth, wet relief flowing through you, only to be washed away by another wave of hot pleasure when his tongue swirls around your clit. His tongue twists and writhes against your aching flesh, perfectly slick and gentle as he tastes you.

Clutching his hair in your hands, it’s all you can do to resist the urge to shove him further into your folds. The thought passes you that Solus would not mind it in the slightest, but his soft hair threading through your fingers, and the feel of him licking at you drains you of conscious thought completely.

You are thoroughly defeated; helplessly you moan as his hot, wet muscle presses and squirms against your sex. Legs shaking, your walls clenching uselessly around nothing as Solus leaves you unfilled, your entire lower half completely exhausted. The best you can do is cling more tightly to his hair, even as you wiggle your fingers to feel the texture of it against your hands.

Solus hums in approval – a sound you feel more than you hear, radiating from your aching sex throughout your entire body. You sigh in pleasure, resigned to simply lie back and experience whatever Solus feels like doing to you.

He spreads his tongue broadly over your folds and pulls it up one a long, slow lick that at once soothes you and sends your aching sex buzzing with sensation. Solus lapped again at your sex, seemingly delighted, filled with energy by the reaction it elicited from you, drawing it out more and more sweetly with long strokes of his tongue slipping against your wetness.

Over and over he repeats the motion, settling into a rhythm, almost, a familiar pattern that wears against your tender flesh. You only become more and more sensitive with every lap, and eventually you are reduced to faint whimpering, unable to even move your hips to break his almost routine movements.

Even worse, you can _hear_ him smiling, the smug creature.

You had thought to just lie back and tolerate his teasing – clearly you had forgotten who you were dealing with. You grasped his hair hard in your hands, making sure you had a firm grip on him, and thrust Solus’s face into your sex, _hard._

The laugh you hear, and feel, against your folds tells you that this perhaps is not any better than what he was doing before.

From a certain point of view, you are right.

Wasting no time, Solus opens his mouth wide against your sex, delving his tongue deep into you without a second thought. It’s a sensation completely unlike his fingers, one that brings you to life instantly in all your languid pleasure; smooth and wet and silky against you. Solus runs his tongue against your walls and you immediately feel yourself coiling around him, clutching the wet, slick muscle inside you just as you had with his hand.

Instinctively you pant out a deep breath, and then again; the same warmth begins to coil in your lower body, centered around your sex and the wetness surrounding it.

It’s still not enough. You don’t know if it will ever be enough. If anything can ever be enough. But you know what Solus is doing now, _isn’t enough._

Tugging on his hair again, you press him against you one more time, this time adding your voice to your plea.

“More.”

It’s more like an order than a plea, but Solus does not mind in the slightest. Rather, he merely puffs out a light chuckle against your wet sex, nose buried deep within your folds, and moves his mouth to engulf your clit. The heat of it alone feels like it is burning against you, but with a single swirl of his tongue around the sensitive flesh, you feel yourself coming apart at the seams, clenching around emptiness as his tongue brushes over and over your clit, setting your sex on fire again and again with each graze.

Trembling to the point of impossible shudders, you relax your knees to let your legs lie flatter, but with Solus between them there is little you can do. Even your fingers feel numb and shaking in his hair. Your every limb is trembling in exhausted ecstasy, unable to bear the weight of the sensations being poured upon you.

The whole thing is almost surreal, you consider in a moment of lucidity. You are the Warrior of Light, a hero and a legend. An icon and protector, silent and strong. You don’t have a body that can feel these things. Surely you don’t. Surely you can’t feel so exhausted and relaxed and tense; these feelings are for other people with lives of their own. They aren’t meant for you.

Gods, but his mouth is so impossibly _wonderful_ against you. It feels so, so good. You love the sound of his voice, but his tongue is even better like this. Licking and stroking at your sex, it’s almost an act of worship; his attention is entirely on you and your reactions, his movements designed to elicit the greatest amount of pleasure, to tease just so that you are able to build to an impossibly perfect climax.

It is as though you are the object of his devotion, a true idol of whom nothing is expected; Solus has come only to lavish his attentions and affection upon you because he deems you worthy of it. With his eyes, hands, his body and his tongue, every fiber of his being is placed at your disposal, for your pleasure.

After a few moments of grazing your clit, Solus has mercy on you, _finally,_ the wicked creature. He presses his face against your folds of his own volition, sealing his lips around your clit, and sucking. First, it’s a light pressure that causes your flesh to swell, but as he goes harder your clit begins to pulse desperately with heat, sending a continuous jolt of pleasure though you until you felt like your nerves were all on fire.

It all flows over you in an instant, the more electric sensations numbing away to smooth euphoria, your senses dulled to anything but sedate pleasure. If you were floating in an ocean before, now you were hovering among the clouds, silken sheets like air below you, and the empty air above cooling you almost like a breeze, although it did not move in the slightest.

Dimly, you register Solus’s face removing itself from your sex, moving immediately above you to better see your face. Your eyes open and close as you drift in and out of a state close to sleep.

Your tiredness is not quite gone, but your limbs have stilled in their shaking. With Solus no longer spreading your legs, you are freely able to let them go lax, finally free of the last tension in your body. The whole of your body aches, but it is the steady, slow ache of muscles taxed over time, as if after a hard day’s work. You are accustomed to this feeling; it is familiar, enveloping you easily and without resistance.

And what interrupts this peace, but your dear partner who has caused you all these feelings?

“Passable, I should say, for the first act.” Solus says lazily from somewhere above you. The idea of opening your eyes to look is exhausting just to think of. “I do intend to give a greater performance another time… but for now, this much should suffice.”

Suffice for what? You are too tired to think. You let Solus caress your breasts once again, hands riding up to your shoulders as they apply pressure and release to your aching muscles. Solus can touch you anywhere he wants, you don’t mind. As long as he just lets you rest, just for a moment…

“Sweet hero, do stay with me, yes? There is yet so much more for you to experience.”

Something in his voice stirs you, calls out to you, and with great effort you look up at him, meeting his gleaming eyes with your own tired gaze. Your expression, you suspect, speaks for you. It’s good, too, because you have little wish to speak, yourself.

“Tired, are we? No matter. We are fortunate indeed, that I happen to have a solution.” The suggestion of what he means flies right past your tired mind, and you only tilt your head as he leans in towards you, kissing not your mouth or your cheek, but your brow.

Somehow, your haziness clears. Not entirely, or you might jump from the bed and die of shock from what you’ve done. But the veil of lust and exhaustion is removed, the numb and aching feelings have disappeared almost entirely. You clench your hand at your side and are surprised to feel it obey your command, fisting with just as much strength as you would normally have expected it to.

You look up at Solus, and consider putting some of your strange revitalization to speaking to him. He does like words, you remember.

“What…?” You ask, raising a brow at him as he smirks down at you. Would he ever stop smiling?

Audibly you hear Solus inhale deeply, eyes focused on something just past you. Impossible, considering you were laying on a bed. “Did I not say you could be _more?_ That there were yet pleasures for you to experience?”

His eyes are dark; somehow they have lose their metallic shine, a dull yellow shadowed harshly by the angular lines of his face, set in stark pale skin. The room seems to darken for a moment even further, although you can always make out his face and form before you.

“Close your eyes.”

You close your eyes obediently and feel him smile against your skin.

And then you open your eyes.

You do not see.

There’s nothing there; it’s all black. Immediately you are struck with a feverish alarm, your back jerking you straight and fingers clutching at the fabric below you. In the absolute darkness you cannot help but feel every thread against your skin, the weave and softness of it suddenly more plain to you, more _real._

It's not enough, not nearly enough. Your hands wander the bed and find only more of the sheets, and nothing else. You turn your head, and you should be looking off the side of the bed, but everywhere you look, it is only black.

Completely devoid of light, an absolute darkness. Such a blackness you had never known, not in the depths of the Abyss itself.

“No, no need to fret, sweet hero.” There’s a voice in the darkness. This voice you recognize, you put together. A memory of light, a face – pretty and smiling with eyes filled with wicked wit. You remember that face.

There’s warm air brushing your cheek and you realize it is him. Solus. His face must be mere ilms from your own, but you cannot see it. You cannot see anything. Are you blind? Have you gone blind? You can feel his hands running down your sides, pressing into your tense body, soothing with long, easy strokes.

“I said,” The voice is a whisper now, next to your ear where his breath feels even hotter. His cheek against your own, the side of his face pressed against yours, silky in a chilled relief against your feverish, flushed skin. “No need to fret. There is nothing for you to fear here, dear, sweet Champion of the Light…”

Solus isn’t smiling, you can feel it. His hands stroke you smoothly and with practiced patience, cool hands passing over your burning flesh, never pressing too hard or too intrusively.

You can’t see anything. You could hear his voice, unnaturally stoic and calm as Solus ran his hands all over you, pressed his body against yours to give you more to feel. But you still cannot see anything.

Instinctively, you reach out, grasping hands groping for anything to hold onto in the darkness. You catch on Solus’s bare skin, and it is much colder than it had been before. Almost icelike. You spread your palms wide, drifting down to feel his abdomen and the muscles there, strangely relaxed as they held him in place above you. At least, you think he is above you.

Your heart won’t stop pounding inside your chest and you begin to pant, blinking furiously. At least, you think you’re blinking. You cannot tell. You cannot see. A whimper escapes your lips, and you’re almost glad to hear it. You’re glad to hear you can make any sound, and hear it. Whatever is happening around you, whatever reason you cannot see and are trapped in this darkness, you do not know. At least you can still cry out, make noise.

A hand comes up to stroke your face, bare and soft against your skin. It’s almost cold against your heated cheeks, almost pleasant, but somehow all you can think is that it is Solus’s hand, and you do not know what he intends to do with it. Can he see you? You flinch away into what you think is the mattress, sheets still beneath you.

“Oh, my. Dear, precious hero. Is this too much?” Solus speaks in the blackness from above you. His face is near yours, you can feel it, but you cannot see it.

Biting your lip a moment, then releasing it with a sigh, you bring your hands back to your chest. You close your eyes, uselessly, and nod.

“That is fine. You have done beautifully, more than enough.” This time you hear the smile in his voice. You can almost feel it with his face on yours, but your tense expression makes it harder to feel such things. “Brave, lovely creature. You do not know how wonderful you are. Full glad I am to have you come to my keeping; now I know you will be properly treasured.”

The words he says make you feel warm. Bright. You open your eyes and you cannot see, but you know his face is still next to you.

“It’s naught to worry yourself over, sweet hero.” Solus coos to you, softly, as his hands run down your sides in comfort. “These things you must do in your own time.”

The longing is clear in his voice, but sedated. It’s enough to give you some strength, because it’s the first time you have heard anything like that from him.

You turn your head and grab his face in your hands, turning him to face you. Even if you cannot see, when you hold his face it is impossible to misjudge where he is. You pull him in for a kiss. Not one of his kisses, but a sweet and warm thing all your own. His lips are as cold as yours are hot, so perhaps he is as freezing as you are burning; only one can be numb to the cold, but not the heat.

Or perhaps you’re just making up reasons to kiss him. Either way, all you think to yourself in this darkness, with your heart panicking and all the knowledge in your conscious mind warning you of danger, that you want to make him feel good, too. Warmth floods your chest at the thought, and you immediately follow it with more.

Foolish and inane though they may be, completely irrational, influenced perhaps by your heightened lust and whatever strange Ascian machinations were taken place here, the feelings that follow can only come from you. Warm and soft and entirely unfit for ones such as Solus, your feelings flow from a warm affection to a hot and burning passion.

It's impossible to resist. You want to be treasured. You want to be called lovely and brave and wonderful. You try so hard.

Your heart breaks with joy at the idea that someone thinks that you can do things that are _beautiful._ You want to be with this person who thinks this way of you. Who comforts you and caresses you and calls you _precious_. He should at least know how much you like this. Like him. You kiss him, smiling, and think how you want him to know how happy you are.

And suddenly, there is light.

A gasp from above you confirms this isn’t by Solus’s design. Blearily, you open your eyes and stare up at him, tilting your head in confusion –

 _Gods,_ he is beautiful. How had you forgotten in only those short moments of darkness? Solus is beautiful, he is _so beautiful._ Such pretty, colorful hair, hanging just past his ears, framing his cheekbones perfectly, leading into the narrow, angular lower half of his face with a pleasant curve. His lips and nose align with his jaw ever so perfectly, giving him a noble, handsome appearance that is only ever exacerbated with lips, perfectly formed and painted in a pale, but dark unassuming color. Always smiling that mischievous smile that fills his face in the most charming way.

It still unsettled you, but you can tell now that a part of that was your own arousal. When had you become so taken, so enraptured with this man you barely knew?

You could not tell, but those golden eyes stare at you in a wordless adoration, and with his hands brushing gently over your body, caressing, massaging, you can tell Solus is just as taken with you. His eyes are bright and shining with a light you did not expect from him, almost blinding in their intensity. They roam your form once, and return to look at you.

It occurs to you that Solus spends as much time looking at your eyes as you do his. You pull him in for another kiss.

“My dear, dear, hero…” Solus breathes between kisses. His lips, you saw, were even beginning to get swollen from all he’d done with them. “To think I had taken my rest before your time. To think Hydaelyn’s own beloved daughter would lie with one of His.”

You don’t like where this is going, so you yank him back towards you, bury your hands in his hair – just as smooth and silky as the rest of him. It felt like heaven to thread your fingers through it, brush it away from his face even as you held him in place with it.

For once you feel him tense with real frustration, grasp your hands in an attempt to pull them away, even as he deepened the kiss. Solus is, of course, nowhere near strong enough to break your hold. A sigh heaves through his nose and brushes against your face.

Solus presses into your kiss even harder, returning your affection with vigor as he works his lips against yours, peeking out with his tongue. It serves as an ample distraction from his true intentions.

Snaking an arm across your back, Solus lifts you and himself into a sitting position on the bed. Since he does not break the kiss, you allow it, and he sits you on his lap before pulling your body plush against his own, enough that you could feel every single ilm of his body against yours, taut muscle and soft flesh alike tensing against you.

He pulls you down even further, allowing your bottom to brush lower between his legs, eliciting a gasp of surprise from you. It’s strange to think you hadn’t realized it, hadn’t thought of it, when it had been so obvious Solus was aroused. So focused he had been on your pleasure, on playing and testing you in his own strange ways that you had not at all expected such interest from him.

You wonder if he will remove his pants, but it’s immediately obvious to you how impossible that is while you and he are in this position. Solus parts his legs slightly more, letting you feel the bulge in his pants even more prominently, this time against your own bare sex.

Your clit is so sensitive, almost sore from your previous activities. Just the barest brush against his pants is enough to send jolts of pleasure through you, whimpers escaping your mouth before you even know you’re making them. Solus smiles into the kiss and the notion occurs to you – faintly, between bouts of electric sensation pulsing through you as Solus nudges you again and again – that he is doing this completely intentionally, in order to get room to speak.

It's so frustrating you have half a mind to tell him very specifically what he should really be doing with his tongue.

Unwilling to surrender, you wrap one arm around his back and grind against him. Solus immediately wraps his hands around your waist, holding you in your position. You could fight him to move, and you would win, but you’ve quite exhausted your willpower at this point. Solus, you suspect, knows this as well.

With great reluctance you release his hair, letting your hand brush through it again and parting from him, ending the kiss. He is of course smiling when you pull away. Even kissing couldn’t keep that smirk off his face forever, it seemed.

“Dear hero,” Solus drawls, snapping a finger and allowing his pants to dissolve in a dark purple mist, leaving him completely bare. “You should not fear anything I have to say. I wish only to reveal to you the truths you have been missing.”

He leans in towards you, using his knees to stay above you in your sitting position. With little thought you lean back, allowing him to climb over you, gaze down on you with eyes shining so bright they could be white. How could they look so light in the shadows? You do not know.

It’s better this way. If you were thinking about what Solus was actually saying, you may be manipulated. Instead you stare up at him longingly, making no secret of your desire as you reach up to wrap your arms around his back and pull him into you.

Solus, of course, laughs at the gesture. “Ah, so eager to pass by my words, but in so doing, you only rush into the experience you think you wish to avoid.”

Without a doubt he meant to say more, but you only arch yourself up to brush his face with yours and try to force him further down. He does not pull away but rather finally lowers onto you, meeting you in a long, slow kiss. With eagerness you return it, opening your mouth to meet his.

You can feel him smile into the kiss, his lips twisting against yours and against your tongue. To no avail, you try to slip in; his lips are uncharacteristically sealed. You can feel a tightness in his chest against your hands, his halted breath as he holds in his laughter. It’s enough to make break off and stare up at him with a _tsk._

Oh, that smile. Wide and bright now, like the stars and moon had been delivered to his feet and he gazes at them now beneath him. You feel his hand trail down your side and down your abdomen, brushing against hair and withdrawing. Immediately you understand, tensing with eagerness and digging your nails into his shoulders, urging him on.

Eyes darkened to a copper gold, glazed with lust as he meets your gaze, Solus guides himself smoothly into you. All the while caressing your torso, faintly smoothing away the knots and relaxing you, whispering sweetly to you as he does.

“Yes, you perfect, wonderful thing, _yes,_ ” His breathes by your ear, his cheek touching yours even as his back strains against your palm, muscles tensing with the effort of his fluid movement. “Dear hero, you have _no idea_ how amazing you feel, how welcoming your embrace is.”

Wet as you are, you feel him slide smoothly into you, hard and pulsing. There’s some soreness from your earlier activities, but he does not move once fully sheathed within you.

Of much greater note to you is the moan that escapes Solus when he is finally buried inside you, a long, drawn out noise you feel rumbling through his entire body. It occurs to you that he’s being theatric for your benefit, and while he cannot see your face you allow your lips to quirk up.

Running your arms down his back, you idly try to provide him some measure of the comfort he had tried to provide you, with his soothing, calculated touches. You run your fingers down along his spine, bare and bony, stretching hard through his skin. It trembles slightly as your persistent caress, then a chord of tension leaves his back and you are satisfied.

“My dear, precious hero…” Solus murmurs and you tilt your head back, enjoying his tone, low and filled with worship. “Do not expect I will ever let you go. Your skin, your touch, your body against mine; I shall not surrender it for even one single heartbeat.”

He buries his head into your hair and you feel his hips move, and his cock twitch inside you. Your heart pounds in anticipation, despite his languid manner and your apparent exhaustion.

“Warrior of Light.” He says, breathing in through your hair, pressing his face into your head and dragging it down, until he finally meets your eyes with his own. Pale gold in the darkness, piercing through you. “You will know the love of the darkness, and rejoice.”

It's then that he pulls back, leaving you empty for but a moment before he speaks again.

“Over and over you have done Her will, and still you are not tempered, you have not been broken. Your gift is…” With a reverent sigh, he plunges back inside you, filling you entirely, “ _Extraordinary._ Beautiful. Like all the rest of you; radiant and shining, like the light incarnate. How can you stand to be called a hero, when you are so much more?”

You cry out with his next movement, arching your back into him and pushing your hips up to meet his next stroke. You can’t help it when you gasp again as he plunges in once more, lifting his hands to hold your face to his. Stroking your cheek gently with his thumb.  

“How can you be satisfied protecting and fighting for the helpless fools that call you their savior, when you deserve so much more?”

Again and again he thrusts, long and deep, a steady rhythm, but it is his voice most of all that leaves you panting, wanting, desperate for more. Somewhere, you find it in yourself to respond.

“Because they call me hero,” You say, taking a deep breath between words, distracted by your need for air by his entrancing gaze, “Because they care about me. What good is all my power, in an empty world?”

His eyes narrow as you speak, his smile tightening. Solus descends upon you weightily, and stills himself inside you, leaving you hot and frustrated as his eyes burn holes in yours.

Not knowing what to do, you speak again. “What good is my life if I’m all alone? What good am I with no one to share myself with?”

Any discomfort you might have felt baring yourself to Solus had faded long ago. Between his constant praises, his lavish attentions, your guard had somehow fallen to nothing. If he struck now, with insults or force, you might even be broken entirely. Shattered like a crystal beneath a mountain’s worth of burdens.

Instead his eyes lose a bit of luster, his tight lips open as he brushes them softly against yours. A chaste, sweet kiss you did not expect from one such as him; painfully fleeting, but tender beyond belief.

“You are worth _everything._ ” Solus says, his body still of all movement, holding you so you stare directly at him. “I cannot tell what has led to this erroneous belief of yours, and I cannot say I care. What matters is not the world around you or the people around you.”

He leans in closer so that your noses touch.

“You are so bright I fear you may burn yourself out. Die in a blaze of glory, serving your world and your Goddess, in an unnecessary sacrifice I cannot condone. You are so much more than you allow yourself to believe. You deserve _so_ much more.”

Once more he moves inside you, but his words bring you closer to the edge than anything else. How can a man who sounded so sarcastic all the time strike you as so sincere? From whence had this miraculous faith of yours come, this belief you had that he meant his words and would do you no harm? He was only telling you what you wanted to hear, barefaced manipulation completely characteristic of an Ascian.

Why do you want so badly to believe him? Why _do_ you believe him? One thrust shakes your body with the force behind it, Solus’s weight bearing on you with impossible heaviness as his cock brushes against one particular spot inside you, a jolt of warmth and pulsing pleasure emanating from it.

Immediately his hands change on your hips, angling you harder, and Solus quickly withdraws in order to thrust into you again, hitting the same spot. You cry out and are rewarded in kind when Solus tries to chuckle but cannot keep it from halting as his breath comes out in pants, eventually fading into a moan.

His cock is throbbing inside you, hotter and seemingly larger than ever as each thrust sense a pulse through you. Even this much is not enough; reaching between your legs with his fingers, Solus brushes against your clit, tender and sensitive from so much stimulation.

You gasp sharply, almost so quickly you choke, and Solus quickens his pace. The friction of it reduces you to a panting mess; all you can feel is the heated pulsing of your sex as he snaps into it and slides quickly away, even brushing your clit as he does so. While sheathed inside you his fingers toy and pinch at your clit with none of his earlier teasing and delicacy; all the knowledge he gained then instead turned to bring you the most pleasure as quickly as possible.

“ _Solus._ ” You say, and it occurs to you that’s the first time you’ve said his name.

Immediately you feel him release inside you, hot and heady. As soon as he does, Solus drags his thumb against your clit in a wide motion, pressing down on it even as he rubbed at it in circles.

He comes down to kiss you as you open your mouth to say his name again, swallowing your loud cry of climax with his typical smile.

 

As you drift off, you hear him say your name in the darkness, and smile faintly in return.

 

 

 

In the darkness, Solus is awake. He has slept enough for several lifetimes, and while he certainly _could_ sleep more in his mortal form if he wanted, he wanted even more to examine his prize.

Asleep as you are, he is blessed to have your prone, naked form pressed against his, legs well entwined with his own. Every breath you took Solus could feel you breathing against him, both the rise and fall of your chest resting against his side, and your breath against his neck. Looking down to see your face, Solus cannot help but smile at it.

Oh, the expressions you had made. Your stoic façade, the easy frustration he could incite in you, and of course your expression of absolute pleasure and bliss. That he can bring such a being as you to such states is thrilling in itself, the intoxicating taste of power made all the sweeter by your willing, if unexpected, faith in him. And so it all brought him just as much ecstasy as it did you.

‘Tis no wonder his life had been so terribly boring before he had met you. Of course Solus had agreed to rest, to fade into the void between worlds upon his mortal demise. If he had not, he would have surely not have grown to be such a suitable partner for you. An equal.

How his role would have divided you and him! Fate is clearly on his side, arranging carefully for him to come across you at the best possible moment, presenting himself and his case in the most appealing manner possible. He has not stopped smiling for a while; were he a normal, mortal man, perhaps his face would even hurt from it.

Idly he strokes your face with a free hand, a strange sensation flooding his chest as you nuzzle closer into it, sighing contentedly. Solus cannot understand how he has come to feel this way, but he does not bother to question it. Who in the world could be more worthy of his affections?

You are a hero, selfless and kind and driven. He had always thought of the heroes of plays as such sad, entertaining creatures. They were his favorite characters. The hero who did not give up, who proceeded in the face of certain death and defeat, who found strength and resolve from within oneself and so could continue to fight, even against all the world.

In all the plays he knew, such heroes died. Reality did not care if the hero was strong enough, pure of heart or of intention. The world simply went on existing, when on working by its own rules and no other. Gravity would pull a child to her death as easily as it might pull water to turn a mill. It was a bittersweet truth that heroes could try and try all they wished, but success was not guaranteed, and was in fact – for the most idealistic heroes – completely unobtainable.

Watching them break, Solus had thought, was where the actors and writers truly shined their brightest. Only against the dark blue of the night sky could the stars shine in all their truest beauty. Only when a man had persevered against all odds, fought a thousand battles and lost them all, failed in every way that mattered and had everything he loved torn away from him – only then could you see who that man truly was.

It was always his favorite part. He was overfond of tragedies. Perhaps that was why he and Varis had gotten along so poorly when his grandson was but a boy. The problem did still persist to this day.

Solus can remember only a few of the many plays he had seen; as much of a patron he had been to the arts, he had also been quite the critic and connoisseur.

He remembers the story of the hunter. With only a note to guide him, he sought through dreams and nightmares a way to transcend the hunt he had been trapped in. It reminds him of his great-grandson, come to think of it; Solus suspects the boy would have enjoyed the play if he had been willing to sit and watch such things. Such a disappointment, that one.

The hunter searched and hunted, even as those surrounding him turned to madness. Solus had watched with interest as the hunter slew greater and _stranger_ foes, each one more horrifying and unnatural than the last. The story had eventually revealed that the hunt had been caused by an organization worshipping strange, otherworldly creatures, and trying to call them into the mortal plane by offering to bear them children.

He always had a fondness for such unusual, eclectic plots. Though the details of it were never quite clear, the hunter had discovered enough in his journey to end the nightmare, and with it, the hunt that was the nightmare for the real world. For all his work, the hunter had been rewarded with death; upon dying in the dream, the hunter had been returned to the real world, far away from the nightmares and monsters and the terrible hunt he had been forced to pursue. It was without a doubt the happiest ending Solus knew of, among the plays he had actually enjoyed.

Another, Solus remembers, was a berserker clad in black who wielded an enormous sword that was said to have slain a dragon. He battled horrific monsters and men alike, and eventually was forced to contend with even his own self – his bloodlust. So prominent was the trait that it had received its own actor: a hound of terrific proportions, sharp teeth and slavering jaw, growling at the swordsman and threatening to consume him.

That swordsman had perhaps the most tragic pasts of all the heroes Solus had seen, but worst of all was the fate of his lover, who had been driven mad by the same betrayal that had ruined the swordsman’s entire life. He had run away from her, following his rage and lust for vengeance until he returned to her, and, upon finding her lost, he swore to never forget her again, never leave her alone again. The swordsman had shocked Solus with this resolution, because this berserker had _changed._ He had learned and gone from a vicious killer little better than the monsters he hunted, to a man who would protect what he loved at any costs. Heroes did not often struggle so with morality, but when they did, they did not disappoint. To this day Solus remembered him quite fondly.

Throughout his journey he had struggled and struggled. Even after finding his lover he had to desperately fight the monster within him, had to struggle on just to protect her and survive the onslaught of wretched creatures pursuing them both. Solus and his grandson shared a respect for man and their impossible perseverance. Merely, Solus knew that people like the swordsman were exceptional, the shining paragons of the Spoken races, and Varis was under the impression that normal humans were capable of such feats, under the right conditions.

A foolish notion. Mental fortitude could not be trained, could not be learned. One possessed it, or one did not, and the amount a person possessed was as much as they would ever have. Varis had overestimated it, and his fellow Ascians had underestimated it; only Solus knew the true measure of humankind’s worth.

The last hero he remembers was on a strange and unknowable quest for the fate of those who bore her curse. After encountering a number of friends and enemies in a sparse, unpopulated world, fighting away foe after foe and felling greater and greater still monsters and demons and eventually gods, she discovered greater and greater mysteries about the world she had traveled to. He had commissioned a sequel to the play, which had been lackluster, and then another sequel, which had only barely begun to answer his questions about the world of the play and the fate of the hero from the very first one.

Throughout her journey she had been sustained by a special flame, able to be reborn if slain, not unlike the phoenix. It was an incredible power that came at the cost of possibly losing her sanity as the countless deaths and injuries took their toll upon her. Many of the friends she met suffered that fate, or simply died and never returned. With only vague words and warnings and phrases to guide her, she still journeyed to discover the fate of the Chosen like her.

That one had put even Solus on the edge of his seat. The story dropped only hints, smatterings, tiny tidbits of answers to questions he could only begin to formulate _after_ he had finished the play the first time. Solus had seen it again and again, and even after a hundred times it had somehow not lost its charm and mystery.

The hero there was unlike anyone he had ever seen. Silently, stoically pursuing her quest, despite how very little she knew about it all. Fighting against impossible challenges, and throwing herself dutifully after them, unperturbed at the prospect of dying. And oh, _did she die._ Again and again, over and over, so much that Solus had quite expected the play to end with her going insane. He thought it well foreshadowed, but a boring ending. It was one of the few times Solus had misjudged the efforts of a playwright.

In the end the hero found the source of the fire that had eternally resurrected her, and the god who started it. She had gathered more and more power throughout her journeys, and upon meeting this final god defending the flame that had so faithfully resurrected her, she had slain him. At that moment in the theatre Solus had _still_ thought her fate would be insanity.

Only in the final moments, when the hero caught fire and was herself set ablaze as the empty husk of a god had been, did Solus realize what had truly taken place. The hero had chosen to grand the old god death, and in so doing, take his place and sustain the fire that had sustained her. Sacrificing her life to prolong its existence, even just a little. The futility, the senselessness of her sacrifice, and all she had done to get there, he remembers it all to this day.

You are most like that hero, Solus knows. You cannot suffer her fate, you cannot. He must not permit you to do anything so foolish, so selfless; you must receive the ending you deserve. He already knows what your face looks like when you are in the most sublime joy; Solus has no interest in seeing you any other way. Even imagining it sends unpleasant pangs through him.

Even now, looking down at you, Solus cannot imagine how you have become so beautiful. A willful creature who also surrendered yourself to him completely; demanding and pleading with him to get what you want for once. The desperate hunger in your eyes, starved for warmth and affection, Solus does not believe you even know about. But your power hums through you still, even when you do not exercise the slightest bit of it. Your strength in the gift translating his words easily though he spoke in the Ascian’s tongue.

He could not deny how partial he was. Of course your importance as the Warrior of Light appealed to him, but even greater was the appeal of your reactions to him. The hesitant acceptance of something you did not even know you longed for, the unabashed joy you felt beneath him and how strange it made him feel to see that. Having you writhing in pleasure beneath him is one of the most enticing things Solus remembers experiencing. Watching your stoic face give way to revealing expressions, watching you revel completely in every single touch he gave you – Solus dares say he understands, now, the appeal of the light.

The feel of you reaching out to kiss him, despite shivering in the fear of the Darkness, denied the vision upon which you relied, is a sensation Solus will never forget. He intends to be reminded of it often – though of course his ability to do so is limited by your comfort.

Solus was always fond of beautiful things. Deadly things, powerful things. You were all of that and even _more_. He could not stand to see a fine blade used to cut wood, much less a person such as _you_ used as a living weapon, a tool for the designs of the weak. You had come _so far,_ fought so hard. All your brilliance in battle, your quick thinking and open mind, the eagerness with which you accepted him – it all made for such a precious, irreplaceable person. Beautiful in every way.

And Solus could not stand to see something as beautiful as you to be broken. Mostly because, unlike other heroes, you would _not_ break. Only grow harder and brighter, like the Mothercrystal Herself, until you were well and truly beyond his reach, or anyone else’s. It was absolutely impermissible; he could not allow it. And even if you _could_ be broken, cut down to your most basic pieces and reassembled into something other than a hero – someone who _could_ be happy, he has no interest in that happening.

He knew already what you were made of.

_Light._

Solus blinks, and his eyes dart towards the open door. It would seem he had a visitor.

 

 

 

The door is opened. Light floods the room. It’s unspeakably bright, far too bright, you can only close your eyes to avoid being blinded to it after your vision having adjusted so long in the dark. You raise a hand to shade your eyes as you squint them open, but Solus does not allow your hand to move, pinning it against the mattress as he moves above you.

Thoughtlessly you follow his face with yours, blinking over and over as you slowly return to reality. The flood of light pulls you away, the presence of it wakes you to the truth. You’re in an enemy stronghold, abed with perhaps one of your greatest foes to date, and no doubt the intruder is a Garlean –

“What is this… _absurdity?_ ” You recognize instantly it is Varis. “You have time for these trivialities when the war is afoot? Know you nothing of your nation’s dire straits?!”

It is Varis – it is _Varis._ From his words he does not recognize you, but –

Like cold water rushing to you it all comes back, as your vision adjusts to the light and as Varis surely examines the person Solus has taken to bed, you will be given away, without a doubt, ruined. Varis had said the Empire was in dire straits, as well, but the implications do not have time to rush through your mind.

A hand turns your face aside, facing upwards, directly into Solus’s face. Violet hair brushes softly against your cheek, just as your mouth opens to say something.  

Golden eyes narrowed at you, brow quirked as he descended onto your lips. You close your eyes in concession, satisfied by the feeling of his lips moving against your own, his tongue teasing into your mouth as playfully as it had the night before. You wonder briefly if Solus takes _anything_ seriously at all, before dropping your thoughts entirely and reciprocating the kiss.

Faintly, as though from a dream, faraway and clouded beyond your control, you hear faint and strange echoes, blurred words thrown around in a realm far beyond your personal, bed bound paradise.

“I must say, Varis, I did not think you were taken to such matters. But if my grandson wishes to follow in my footsteps, I would be remiss not to invite you-”

That’s Solus’s voice, you think, pleased with yourself for recognizing it. A hand raises up to stroke your cheek – you know this hand, too. It’s smooth and skillful and curves to fit your jawline perfectly in its palm. You reach back with your hand, which Solus had released, and bury it in his hair. It’s soft and smooth and so lovely. You don’t know if you’ll ever let it go.

“Enough!”

The sound is hard and curt and makes you wince, retreat back into the plush mattress, the downy pillows. Solus does not pull you up, but rather follows you, pressing your body further down with his own, entwining his legs with yours and guiding your arms to wrap around his chest with one hand. The other hand does not leave your cheek.

Something else is probably said. You only really hear again when your awareness perks at Solus’s voice. It’s smooth like chocolate, but you know it’s not meant for you, so it’s little more than a distraction from the wonderful creature above you.

“Perhaps I had not been clear with you?”

You can tell by the tone that Solus is out of patience. It makes your heart beat faster. His wandering hand squeezes your hip, a burst of sensation, and trails downward to rest on your thigh, teasing the skin there. You don’t doubt at all that it’s a taste of what to come.

“Join in, or _leave._ I tire of this conversation as we speak. I have a lover to attend; I will not suffer an unsatisfied partner. If you cannot understand that – well, then you are _truly_ a failure of a grandson.”

The verbal confirmation that Solus intends to give you everything you want isn’t needed, but it does reassure you. His offer for Varis to participate falls well outside your realm of comprehension; Solus’s lips on yours, his hand on your body and your cheek, how you could feel him breathing in your arms as he bore down on you.

“…Do your duty, Ascian.” That gruff, low, angry voice says.

You hear the door click and the searing light fades away, leaving you back in the cool, gentle darkness. The shadows only make his face look more lovely. You’re much happier like this.

Solus leans away from you, sitting up on the bed and bringing his hands back to himself. Your arms fall away from him as he rises, and you’re forced to follow, supporting yourself with your hands as Solus has your legs pinned from his place above you. Such is his position that you must look up to see his face, look into his eyes.

They make you shiver. No bright gold, this, but a smoldering flame, like embers glowing in a fire, surrounded by blackened charcoal and all the brighter for it. Framed by dark hair, dark lips, face painted with shadows, all you can think is how much you want to touch it.

He must see the pleading on your face. Of course he does. How could he not? You see those dark lips curve into a smile and your heart accelerates, excitement coursing through you.

 

If what you are doing is sinful, you decide as Solus leans in to whisper to you, then you will gladly descend with him, into the darkness, the void, or whatever else between.

“Solus.” You speak his name again, just to watch his pupils dilate, hear his breath catch.

He’s still smiling.

In the darkness, you smile back.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Look me in the eyes, look me in the fucking eyes and tell me you didn’t see all those Solus bodies and think… Solus would fuck with all of that.
> 
> Also have you heard the way he fucking talks to Varis? There is a 0% chance he wouldn’t invite his shitty grandkid to join in, it would fucking annoy the shit out of Varis, of course Solus would do it.
> 
> Solus is wearing lipstick this isn’t up for debate  
> He doesn’t look like it in some pictures, sure, but in others he could be wearing a dark lipstick, just lightly applied. I’ll fucking die with this headcanon.  
> Listen boys I’m a professional in Waxing Poetic About Galvus Appearances. You don’t know the half of it. Also, Varis has no eyebrows.  
> Yes, Solus has seen Bloodborne, Berserk, and Dark Souls. The Yharnam Sunrise is the canon ending because guess what? It’s literally the happiest ending any character gets in any of the Souls games. 
> 
> Several days into writing this, around when I reached 10,000 words, I realized I can’t write smut. That would probably be okay normally, but for some reason I continued to write smut. The result is the fic you see before you. what the actual fuck have I done I've gone from having written almost no smut ever to posting an 17k word smutfest in one single week. what even is writing, i don't understand.
> 
> I know most people don’t comment on fics like this, and I get that it’s awkward so I won’t hold it against you or anything. But please, seriously, please, if you liked this, if you thought a certain part was written very well well or struck you as offbeat, please say something in the comments. Constructive criticism would be great. If I post this and no one says anything about it and it just gets a bunch of views and radio silence I might actually cry and never write smut again. I get that maybe it doesn’t seem that way to you, but I literally have no idea what I’m doing, you guys. No idea if it’s good or bad or if there are any glaring flaws. Nothing could be worse than I've written something awful and no one telling me that. I’ve never written anything like this before and I desperately crave reassurance :')


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